


here is the golden close of love

by cannibalatrix



Category: Kingsman: The Secret Service (2015)
Genre: Age Difference, Arranged Marriage, Bottom Eggsy, M/M, Oblivious Harry, Pining Eggsy, Top Harry, eggsy gets kidnapped by baddies and harry rescues his smol egg, harry is a gentleman and eggsy is having none of it, sort of sugar daddy!harry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-07
Updated: 2016-04-07
Packaged: 2018-05-31 21:51:33
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,136
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6488821
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cannibalatrix/pseuds/cannibalatrix
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Afterwards, under the eagle-eyed gaze of the official, Harry gently, precisely takes Eggsy’s hand—it looks very small in his grasp—and slides a slim gold band onto his ring finger, then leans down, all intimidatingly sharp, tailored lines and neatly parted hair, and gives Eggsy a soft, chaste kiss on the lips.</p>
            </blockquote>





	here is the golden close of love

**Author's Note:**

> Light, so low upon earth,  
> You send a flash to the sun.  
> Here is the golden close of love,  
> All my wooing is done.  
> Oh, all the woods and the meadows,  
> Woods, where we hid from the wet,  
> Stiles where we stayed to be kind,  
> Meadows in which we met!  
> Light, so low in the vale  
> You flash and lighten afar,  
> For this is the golden morning of love,  
> And you are his morning star.  
> Flash, I am coming, I come,  
> By meadow and stile and wood,  
> Oh, lighten into my eyes and my heart,  
> Into my heart and my blood!  
> Heart, are you great enough  
> For a love that never tires?  
> O heart, are you great enough for love?  
> I have heard of thorns and briers.  
> Over the thorns and briers,  
> Over the meadows and stiles,  
> Over the world to the end of it  
> Flash of a million miles.
> 
> \- 'Marriage Morning', by Lord Alfred Tennyson

Eggsy’s a young mail-order bride who gets selected from the catalog by a man he’s heard horror stories about from the boys he knows that work Smith Street. Panicking, he calls the number on his medal. Harry knows he can’t let Lee Unwin’s twenty-two-year-old son get sold off to this man who’s got a record of abusing boys exactly like Eggsy. But since Eggsy’d signed a legally binding contract stating he’d go with whoever picked him (not that he’d exactly had a choice at the time, not with Dean hovering over him with an expression like murder and threats of violence echoing in his ears), the only legal way Harry can get him out of it is to make a better offer to the agency and supercede the other man’s purchase. The next morning Eggsy gets wrestled into his best clothes, is handed a single bag containing his most precious possessions, and then gets bundled into a sleek black cab and driven to city hall before his tears even have time to dry.

His new husband, Harry Hart—probably the fittest fucking bloke Eggsy’s ever laid eyes on—is alarmingly kind to him. He introduces himself with more courtesy than anyone has ever shown to Eggsy before in his life, explains that he knew Eggsy’s father and this was the best he could do in response to Eggsy’s desperate phone call and he has no intention of making this marriage anything more than Eggsy would like it to be. He then stands at a polite distance away as the city official drones on and they sign their names, Harry’s signature elegant and curling and Eggsy’s spiky from his trembling hand. Afterwards, under the eagle-eyed gaze of the official, Harry gently, precisely takes Eggsy’s hand—it looks very small in his grasp—and slides a slim gold band onto his ring finger, then leans down, all intimidatingly sharp, tailored lines and neatly parted hair, and gives Eggsy a soft, chaste kiss on the lips. Eggsy experiences a bizarre moment of vertigo as Harry’s mouth drags gently over his, catching whisper-light on Eggsy’s fuller bottom lip, and he inhales sharply, at which Harry swiftly straightens up, somehow managing to make the sudden movement look natural, although the look in his eyes is more akin to a startled animal.

Afterwards, Harry puts one hand very lightly under the point of Eggsy’s elbow and guides him outside to the cab, which is good because Eggsy’s barely paying attention, too busy trying to incorporate the sudden fact of his new husband into his worldview. The cab takes them to a posh part of town that Eggsy’s never so much as set foot in before, and apparently Harry is fucking loaded, because his house is the nicest one Eggsy’s ever seen, even if it’s decorated really fucking weirdly—there’s a taxidermied dog in the loo, for fuck’s sake, and massively creepy if gorgeous butterflies skewered and framed all over the place. Eggsy’s beginning to realize that his new husband is maybe a little bit of a freak. Harry shows him around, and when they get to the bedroom Eggsy might be a little afraid, but Harry just sort of looks at him with this strange, sad expression, and says he’ll be in his study if Eggsy needs anything. Eggsy spends most of the day wandering around getting familiar with his new home, running tentative fingertips over the spines of Harry’s frankly amazing book collection and poking around in the kitchen and sitting room. Occasionally he can hear the distant cadence of Harry’s voice, rising and falling, sometimes a little agitated. Hours later Harry emerges from his study, looking exhausted, and asks Eggsy hesitantly what he’d like to eat for dinner, admitting that he doesn’t really cook. In the end, Harry orders a ridiculous amount of the best Chinese takeaway Eggsy’s ever had, and they eat it off of expensive china plates at Harry’s gigantic dining room table while Eggsy awkwardly tries not to spill food on the tablecloth and Harry quietly asks Eggsy questions about his life—what he likes, what his hobbies are. Eggsy answers as honestly as he can, despite the fact that he doesn’t really know Harry at all—there’s something about the man that makes Eggsy instinctually want to trust him, which is…really fucking odd.

After dinner, Harry asks Eggsy what he’d like to do for the rest of the evening, and Eggsy shyly says that he’d seen 'My Fair Lady’ in Harry’s extensive video library, and asks if maybe they could watch that. In response, Harry, looking pleased and a little charmed, touches Eggsy very softly on the shoulder, just fingertips, prompting a bizarre sensation in Eggsy’s stomach that reminds him of the insects framed in the loo, and ushers him into the sitting room. Eggsy starts nodding off partway through the movie and wakes up a little while later only to find that, horrifyingly, he’s drooled on Harry’s shoulder. He hurriedly apologizes, wiping red-faced at the damp corner of his mouth, and scrubs ineffectually at the offending mark on Harry’s (probably horrifyingly expensive) shirt, and Harry says _it’s quite all right, I don’t mind in the least—do please stop apologizing, darling_. He looks a little surprised at the endearment that had slipped from his tongue seemingly without thinking, and Eggsy, unexpectedly, finds himself blushing. Harry, looking a bit out of sorts himself, suggests they call it a night. Eggsy’s stomach drops and his voice is embarrassingly shaky as he agrees. Harry casts him a keen glance and reminds Eggsy, gently, that he doesn’t intend to take advantage, and Eggsy shouldn’t be worried that Harry will try anything. Eggsy quietly says okay and they go upstairs to bed. Harry firmly tells Eggsy to shower first, that he’s had a long distressing day and he should relax. Just in case, Eggsy cleans himself out and fingers himself open with a bit of lotion he finds in the cabinet. It’s not that he thinks Harry will try to force him, it’s just that he doesn’t necessarily think that he won’t, either. In the end, curled up in Harry’s soft bed, wearing Harry’s borrowed pajamas and sort of vaguely aroused from stretching his arse open, he drifts back off to sleep while Harry’s in the shower and wakes up a few hours later to a dark room and Harry lying half a foot away, just barely discernible lines of curling hair and radiating heat. He curls a bit closer, only half-conscious and feeling an unexpected desire to be nearer to Harry, and goes back to sleep.

In the morning Harry wakes him with a gentle hand on his arm, already clean-shaven and dressed in another posh suit, telling him in a low voice that there’s tea and breakfast downstairs, and that Harry will be at work for most of the day, but that Eggsy should please call him if he needs anything or has any questions. Eggsy, eyes barely open and tangled in sheets, rolls over onto his stomach and mumbles something nonsensical in reply. Just before his eyes close completely he catches a glimpse of Harry’s face, eyes slightly soft at the corners and an almost fond curve to his lips as he looks at Eggsy. Later, when Eggsy’s woken up properly, he’s not sure whether he dreamed that part up or not, so he tries not to think anything of it, despite the way it makes his face go a little hot and his stomach flip. He jerks off in the shower, comes embarrassingly hard with the memory of Harry soft and warm and sleeping next to him on his mind, and tries not to think about that either.

 

Several months go by much like that first day and the morning after.

To fulfill the contract they have to sleep in the same bed, use the same shower, eat at the same table, things like that—but Harry never even touches him. He buys Eggsy a terrifying amount of new clothing that fits him like a glove, expensive toiletries that come with in glass bottles with fucking instruction manuals, takes him to the best restaurants in London, teaches him to recognize and appreciate the subtle palate of fine liquors, and never once lays a hand on Eggsy outside of things like guiding him through doorways with a palm hovering gently over the base of his spine, or the softest brush of fingers over his wrist as Harry fastens a staggeringly expensive watch onto it. Eggsy, increasingly, pathetically in love with his gorgeous, gentlemanly husband, gets fed up and begins a subtle campaign to make Harry lose his perfect iron control, put Eggsy facedown on his stupidly huge bed, and fuck him so hard he cries. He starts small, things like making sure Harry sees the way Eggsy smiles up at him, internally triumphant at the way Harry blinks just the slightest bit, faltering in the face of Eggsy’s open, adoring expression. Things like asking Harry for help reaching onto high shelves in the kitchen, so Harry will press in close behind him and Eggsy can lean back into the broad shelter of his chest, listening for the way Harry’s breath hitches at Eggsy’s arse brushing ever-so-slightly over the front of Harry’s trousers. Things like curling up close to Harry in bed while the older man is sleeping, so Harry wakes up to an armful of warm, sleepy Eggsy. Things like “forgetting” to bring his clothes into the bathroom with him, so that Harry gets an eyeful of dripping naked skin when he walks into the bedroom wearing only a towel. This goes slightly awry when Harry chokes and drops his full teacup, but Eggsy makes up for it by making Harry watch him scrubbing at the carpet on his hands and knees, clad only in a small pair of pants that cling to Eggsy’s arse like a second skin.

Everything goes according to plan except the part where Harry doesn’t seem to have gotten the memo and continues to avoid touching Eggsy except when it’s absolutely unavoidable, such as waking up with Eggsy’s mostly-naked body wrapped around him like a hot, grumpy octopus. Eventually, one night in Harry’s study after dinner, Eggsy snaps, shouts at a bewildered Harry that he’s an oblivious prick, and storms out. Harry finds him in the bedroom, curled up under the covers pretending like he’s not crying like some stupid kid. Harry, annoyingly gentle and perfect as always, pulls his duvet off of Eggsy’s rumpled head and asks Eggsy to _please tell me what’s wrong, darling, have I done something to upset you?_ To which Eggsy snaps that _yeah, you’ve fucking done something wrong, you married me and made me fall in love with you and you won’t fucking touch me, you wanker_. Harry, seemingly taken aback, stammers about not wanting to take advantage and how Eggsy’s too young and he couldn’t possibly want— Eggsy shuts him up by shoving him up against the headboard and clambering onto his lap. Harry tries again, weakly, to protest, and Eggsy kisses him until he stops muttering reasons why Eggsy doesn’t know what he wants in favor of biting Eggsy’s swollen lips in a way that implies he’s been thinking about doing that for a long time and panting things that make Eggsy go embarrassingly goopy, like _you’re so lovely, darling_ and _perfect boy, you can’t know how long I’ve_ — until Eggsy whines and squirms desperately until he gets them both naked and Harry on top of him, skin to skin, hot and demanding and eating at Eggsy’s mouth like he needs it to live. Harry fingers him until he’s begging and writhing and then fucks him into the mattress until Eggsy comes so hard he makes an embarrassingly high-pitched noise which Harry seems to like very much, if the way he shoves inside Eggsy hard, all the way to the hilt and comes silently with his open mouth pressed against the hinge of Eggsy’s jaw is any indication.

Things after that are pretty much the same as they’ve always been, except that now Harry touches Eggsy almost constantly, making Eggsy wonder how many signs of Harry wanting him he’d missed in the time since they’ve been married; except that now Eggsy wakes every morning to Harry pressed hot and solid and safe against his back; except that now Eggsy drifts off every night with Harry still wringing sweet kisses from his sleepy mouth, hands broad and gentle as they rub slow circles over his back and flank; except that now when they curl up on the couch after dinner and watch classic films, Eggsy can slide onto Harry’s lap and get Harry’s hands gripping his hips, Harry’s mouth on his throat and collarbone, murmuring lazy endearments, Harry breathing hard and slow and even as he helps Eggsy rock full and content on his cock.

And then comes the day that Eggsy’s attacked—taken off the street even as he struggles and tries to shout around the hand clamped over his mouth, drugged and bound and smacked around like he hasn’t been in a year as men shout questions in his face, questions like _tell us about Harry Hart_ and _what do you know about Kingsman_. And Eggsy grits his teeth, spits blood in their faces and laughs wildly, refuses to tell them a single thing. Partly because he doesn’t actually know all that much, which is a little upsetting to realise—but mostly it’s because he loves Harry, more than he’s loved anyone ever, and he’ll die before he betrays the man who’s given him everything he wants.  
And then there’s screaming and chaos and gunfire, alarms blaring loud and insistent as the men interrogating him run from the room, and they don’t come back. Instead there’s Harry, bursting into the room wild-eyed and dishevelled, levelling a fucking gun into every corner of the room before he shoves it into a shoulder holster that Eggsy’s pretty sure he’ll have some seriously sexual thoughts about once he’s finished having a panic attack, drops to his knees in front of Eggsy and cradles his bruised face in shaking hands, demanding to know _are you all right, Eggsy are you hurt, did they hurt you_ as his thumbs stroke anxiously over Eggsy’s cheekbones. His eyes are wide and frightened. Eggsy struggles out of his restraints, saying _Harry, Harry what the fuck is going on, did you—did you fucking kill them?_ And Harry doesn’t say yes, but he also doesn’t let Eggsy look as he guides him out of the grimy warehouse, just tucks Eggsy’s face into his shoulder with one hand steady on the nape of his neck and steers him carefully outside.

 

So apparently Harry is a spy. A Kingsman agent, to be precise, whatever the fuck that means, and now Eggsy knows why Harry had been so vague when he’d explained how Eggsy’s dad had saved his life, back when they’d just gotten married and Eggsy didn’t know Harry yet, didn’t know how kind and lovely he is, didn’t know that he’d love Eggsy like Eggsy has never been loved before, until Eggsy is shaking and melting underneath his hands and his mouth. And Eggsy sort of wants to be angry with him for lying (because as it turns out, Harry Hart is definitely not a fucking tailor) but every time Eggsy tries he just sees the look of sheer terror on Harry's face when he’d seen Eggsy bound and limp in that warehouse, the relief as he’d touched him and the barely suppressed fury seething just below the surface as he’d brushed with his fingertips the bruises those awful men had left on Eggsy’s skin, and Eggsy can’t quite manage to feel anything but a fierce love for this man who has chosen to care so deeply for him.

 

Harry takes him to Kingsman headquarters, gets him looked over in the med bay, and helps him clean up in the showers, hands very careful as he washes Eggsy’s hair and lets Eggsy lean against him, courteously pretending not to notice that Eggsy is crying onto his shoulder. He still strokes Eggsy’s back and kisses his temple a lot, though, hand spread wide and steadying over Eggsy’s throat and jaw, holding Eggsy close, and then brushes more delicate kisses over the paper-thin fragile skin of Eggsy’s swollen eyelids when he finally turns his face up to Harry’s. Then there’s loads of forms they both have to fill out. Apparently being married to a spy takes a lot of paperwork. Harry introduces Eggsy to a tall bald man named Merlin who, as they shake hands, stares at Eggsy over his glasses for a long, long moment before levelling Harry with a look of absolute exasperation and no small amount of disapproval.  
_A bit young, isn’t he, Galahad?_ he says, and Harry just inclines his head, seemingly completely unruffled.  
_Oi, I’m not that young_ , Eggsy says, annoyed, and Merlin sighs hugely.

 

After that Harry shows him around, introduces him to some of his fellow agents, all of whom seem disproportionately charmed by Agent Galahad’s young husband, continually shooting Harry incredulous looks as Eggsy tucks himself into Harry’s side and demands kisses, which Harry grants with as much poise and obnoxious superiority as he does everything else. Eggsy extends more invitations to dinner than he thinks Harry is quite happy about. Later, after they’ve gone home in one of Kingsman’s posh black cabs, Harry undresses them both and presses Eggsy hungrily down into their bed and kisses him all over, mouthing slow and gentle over his bruises until Eggsy is keening and arching. _Turn over for me, lovely boy_ , Harry says, breathing hard, and then he eats Eggsy out for a solid forty-five fucking minutes. By the time Harry finally slides home inside him an entire hour later, Eggsy is a gasping, begging mess, rocking his sloppy, stretched arse back into the long, controlled strokes as Harry stretches long and lean and warm over Eggsy’s back, one muscled arm hooked under Eggsy’s chest as he lavishes kisses non-stop onto the vulnerable curve of Eggsy’s nape. _I’m sorry, darling, I’m so sorry, I didn’t want to lie to you, please forgive me, sweetheart, say you forgive me_ , Harry murmurs low and wrecked against his skin, and Eggsy sobs, pushes his arse back until Harry groans harsh and anguished into his ear. _Promise you won’t lie to me, Harry, promise_ , Eggsy begs, and Harry gasps, _anything, anything you need, I promise, my love, my darling, my dearest boy_ —

 _I love you_ , Eggsy whispers, later, when Harry’s cleaned them up and tucked them both under the covers, and Harry tugs him closer, kisses him down, down, down into sleep.


End file.
